THE RABBIT. 229 



his neck, and he does not know what ails him. 

 For days the wretched creature lingers between 

 some sheltering cranny and a patch of green-sward, 

 wearily dragging himself back and forth, unable 

 to eat or to take an active part in the world of 

 sunlight about ; and in the end blindness over- 

 comes him, if not death in some merciful form. 



Sometimes, after days of torture, a rabbit gets 

 rid of the cruel noose, and finally recovers his 

 strength ; but he is now a blind rabbit. Every 

 colony of any size has its blind rabbits, just as long 

 ago every herd of buffaloes on the prairie had its 

 blind members. And just as the blind buffalo, his 

 other senses becoming quickened, was often the 

 first to give warning of danger to the rest of the 

 herd, so blind rabbits, feeding with the rest of 

 the colony, are frequently more alert and keen 

 than any of their brothers and sisters. 



I have seen a rabbit, totally blinded by the 

 broken snare or by shot, get up and bolt like an 

 arrow on the first approach of danger, dipping 

 underground at the exact spot without hesitation 

 or fault. His foes are many, however, and, thus 

 greatly handicapped, it is merely a matter of time 

 ere he falls to one or other of them. Once off 

 his own runway, once turned aside from the path 

 he knows so well, and he stumbles, falls, and is 

 lost, finally crouching in the open without further 

 attempt to save himself. 



The rabbit is swifter than the hare when on its 

 own ground and over a short distance, the superi- 

 ority of the hare lying in its staying-powers and in 

 its marvellous maintenance of a high average speed. 



It is generally thought that the natural home of 

 the rabbit is its burrow, that this creature belongs 

 to the earth, and comes up only for food ; but this 



